


Legacy of the Mad King

by Ketlingr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Gen, Insanity, Mad King, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketlingr/pseuds/Ketlingr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A man who had survived his own death, a man who had stayed past his time to leave. What was there to wait for when time could not put an end to him and he was too cowardly to end himself?" </p><p>Loki's attack on New York has left behind a lot of chaos. Not all of it can be seen from the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there :)  
> One of my (conglomerating) insanity-fics... 
> 
> The chapters are not particularly long, but they're not meant to be, either... this is not about a lot of action going on, but more about an 'inside view' into the characters' minds. Or what is left of those, at least.

A thumping noise, like the sound of feet behind him, but whenever he stopped to listen, there was only silence; nothing but the beating of his own heart echoing in his ears. A flickering movement in the corner of his eye, but whenever he stopped and turned, there was only his own shadow staring back at him, mocking his paranoia.

A smell unsettling a faint memory that had rested in the back of his mind for too long and was reluctant to awake, but when it did, the smell was gone and there was nothing but the stale air of his room. It reeked of plastic and chemicals, the smell creating a distinct headache that was humming just above the bridge of his nose and spread out to press painfully against his forehead.

A weight pressing down on him from all sides at once, confining his body, when all that was around him were the clothes he had been given by the people who had brought him here. Yet even what little fabric was covering his body seemed too much to bear. It was too tight, too rough, too hot. It was not his. Nothing here was his. Because all that had been his was gone, it had been gone for seventy long years, while he had slept, uselessly.

A bitter taste, the taste of embers and ashes and death, when all he tasted was the blood on his lips, where he had bitten down too hard in an attempt to muffle the frustrated cry that was ever lurking on the edge of his throat. Not that there was anyone around to hear it, anyway, or was there? No, there was no-one left. Nobody but him and what was he doing here? A man who had survived his own death, a man who had stayed past his time to leave. What was there to wait for when time could not put an end to him and he was too cowardly to end himself?

Only for a while. Only for a while had his life had a new purpose. Another chance at a different life, offered by a man made up of madness and delusion. For all the destruction and all the pain that man had brought, there was nothing but gratitude in the soldier's heart; indebtedness for the man who had given him a purpose. For a while. But now the threat was gone and with it the purpose was no more. Pacing the cell that was his home, the soldier wished for the return of his saviour, another rise of the mad king.

Where broken glass and chaos had once mended the shattered existence he had led, it was now a mirror's shattered glass that calmed the chaos of his broken mind. But always only for a while. Too soon the soldier's blood, which had been frozen for so long, was boiling again, burning him from the inside until he left charred coals wherever he trod, to go with a bitter swallow of words he spat at those looking up to him.

Full of hope were their eyes, seeking an idol where there was no more but a lonely man, grieving a time long gone and a life that had never been his own. For he was a soldier who had fought for what was right, but never known nor learned how to fight for his own good.


	2. The Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sizzling blue, voices hissing in his ear, targets marked out before him and people looking at him, knowing he was a monster, knowing that he was dangerous – those were his dreams."

It had guided him, led him into war, shown him the path towards a greater good. Never before had he experienced such conviction in his mind. A drive to kill so strong it drowned out all the questions, all his doubts and insecurities. A determination so overwhelmingly fierce that it shook him, sent pleasant rushes of adrenaline through his body until he knew he could do what was needed, whatever it was.

It was still there but it had no control. The voice in the back of his head just would not go away. It kept talking and talking and talking... He was never sure if it was his own voice of guilt, or the electric blue of the Tesseract that had nested in his mind, just waiting to take him over again. Talking. Talking. Talking.

Speaking of the glory of fighting alongside a god. Revealing the desire the traitor had felt to comply, to surrender himself to a superior being. Reminding him what it had been like working with an aim, led by pure, tangible force and with powerful intent. Warning him of betraying the trust that had been put into him – that was still there to return to. Describing the darkness, the guilt, the distrust that awaited him if he let go of the Tesseract's leadership.

But most of all, the voice – all the voices – sang of the freedom that came with submission. The opportunity, the power, the immunity. Under the mad king's lead, they would conquer and subdue and the traitor's loyalty would be valued highly.

They never stopped talking. In the back of his head, quietly whispering, smoothly trying to seduce him like a woman dressed in lace and satin. Then suddenly charging like an animal, rushing to capture his attention, tearing his sanity to shreds with its claws. At times the voice would scream and yell at him, a hot, burning pressure behind his eyes, singing the traitor's mind.

Worse than hearing them, though, was the thought of the silence that could follow their words. Never to hear them again and to know they were gone forever – the thought haunted him.

Sizzling blue, voices hissing in his ear, targets marked out before him and people looking at him, knowing he was a monster, knowing that he was dangerous – those were his dreams. His nightmares were filled with silence and darkness, being lost without guidance. But it was what loyalty demanded of him. To fight the voices, to keep the people save who relied on him.

Because the only thing worse than being a traitor was being a traitor without people to betray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the last, different approach (different person)... ;)

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it! 
> 
> Steve's insane brain wrapped up neatly in bacon and a bunch of metaphors!


End file.
